Nelgetha
by Velkyn Karma
Summary: Reyson has always hated the beorc for what they have done. Some, perhaps, are trustworthy. Yet most humans, especially filthy Daeins, are not. But when a terrible accident comes his way, Reyson realizes he still as a lot to learn about the beorc. Complete
1. Sarajevo

**Nelgetha**

A fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Summary:** Reyson has always hated the beorc for what they've done to his beloved forest. And while some are unusually trustworthy, Reyson still gives the benefit of the doubt to no no one—especially filthy human Daeins. But there may be more to those humans than meets the eye. When a terrible accident comes his way, Reyson realizes he still has a lot to learn about the beorc...

**Note: **Written in response mostly to the lack of good Reyson fics on the site. Most involve Reyson in a pairing with somebody; very few actually explore his character. To that end, I've made this, and I hope you enjoy. No, it isn't a pairing fic, so don't get your hopes up.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

-----

"Falling isn't dangerous. _Crashing_ is what's dangerous."

Words of Wisdom

-----

The scream of iron clanging on metal seared around him, clashing with the shrieks of the injured and the whistle of arrows, and in the whirling mass of terrifying cacophony Reyson reflected briefly that he hated warfare.

The thought did not surprise him now, just as it had not surprised him the last fifty times he had stumbled across it in mid-battle. His people had never been a violent race, but rather one of healing and rebirth, and so it made a good deal of sense that he would dislike the complete and utter destruction that war alone could bring.

But, he reflected, as he fluttered aside to avoid the range of the oncoming archers, the conclusion inevitably led to the next of his thoughts: if he hated war so much, why was he on the battlefield, risking staining his wings red with beorc and laguz blood he wanted nothing to do with?

The archers were moving closer, and Reyson's thoughts broke as he hastily flapped aside once more, taking shelter behind several members of the Crimean army. Nearby, Tormod leaped forward to combat the enemy men, summoning embers from the air itself to fling at his enemies. The boy had been friendly enough with the heron prince for the past few weeks now, and seemed to consider it a job to protect the non-combatant while they were relegated to the back ranks of the army. Reyson did not mind—the boy was surprisingly more capable than he let on—and so he turned his attention from the archers to the allies he had sworn to help.

The Crimean army was in a sore state. They had originally come even with their black-armored enemies, and it seemed that Soren's brilliant battle tactics would once again snatch them a fantastic victory from seemingly impossible odds. But the Daein company had received sudden and unexpected reinforcements, carried in on the backs of several large wyvern riders with a pair of captains at their head.

Ike's force rallied to the best of its ability against the new onslaught. The long hours of training and fighting side by side had allowed its men to fall into defensive positions near instantaneously, even without Soren's instructions. But they were tired, and the new arrivals were fresh. If things continued as they were, the Crimean allies would be crushed underfoot.

The situation was not in Crimea's favor, but Reyson intended to change that. He could not fight, of course, and could not aid Ike's men with another pair of talons or claws, or even a sword or bow. But his galdr were powerful, and with his enchantments he could restore some strength to the tired muscles and minds of the Crimean men. It was admittedly not much that he could offer, Reyson reflected bitterly. But anything that he could add he would, without question.

And that was his answer, he knew, as he flapped forward another few feet, gliding low to avoid being spotted. He would aid Ike in any way possible, even if he _was_ a beorc, and even if it meant the prince risked staining his elegant hands or fragile mind. Ike was unusual, and sometimes overly blunt or stubborn. But he truly did care, and Reyson found it curious. Never had he seen such a loyal beorc before, and so he continued to break against his better instinct and help the young man, just as Ike in turn had broken the long-lasting wall between the laguz and the beorc to help his lost sister Leanne.

And deep in his mind, the prince knew that he was acting for Serenes as well. Even if his beloved forest had been restored, his heart still burned with mourning for its painful death twenty years previously, and he knew now that Daein was connected to influencing that murder. For it _was_ murder, even if the others could not see it that way. The forest could speak to him, bore its own intelligence and wisdom and personality, and eradicating it had been _wrong, _so wrong. He could not forgive Daein for their cruelty. Daein and its filthy humans...

There was a cry of horror ahead, and Reyson snapped from his reverie, briefly cursing himself for losing focus on the battlefield. He was even more of a target than his Crimean allies, and if he did not pay attention he would find himself impaled on the lance or sword of a bloodthirsty Daein human.

Narrowing his delicate eyes to see further, the heron prince scanned the depths of the battlefield ahead, and soon located the origin of the terrible cry. Closer to the mountains, the right flank of Ike's army was being pressed brutally by a pair of armored wyvern. The riders stabbed viciously at their opponents with lances while the creatures snapped and bit with claws and teeth, proving to be a dangerous challenge. The Crimeans fought valiantly in return, but were rather hopelessly outmatched by the long reach of the lances and the deadly swiping claws of the wyvern, and most could not reach with their swords. Reyson could recognize the short silver hair and wickedly curved blade of Zihark, trying desperately to rally some of his fellow swordsmen against the wyvern, but the men were too outnumbered and too weakened to truly fight back.

The implications were clear, and the wyvern lords were laughing as they thrust repeatedly against the thin line with their lances. When the flank was broken, it would open up far too many opportunities for the ground-bound Daein men, who would be able to attack the left and center flanks of Ike's army from behind. It would be over in moments unless the regiment could hold.

His destination now clear, the heron prince flapped his snowy white wings and rose several feet into the air, giving himself mobility above the chaos. He concentrated his magic carefully even as he swooped above the Crimean crowd, preparing to unleash his restorative song as soon as he reached his exhausted allies. There would be no time to spare, and his aid would need to be near instantaneous.

He reached them as one of the red-armored Begnion soldiers fell with a scream, and one of the wyvern pressed forward hungrily. Zihark dived forward to fill the hole in the dead man's place, but the line was spreading too thin, and all the men were covered in injuries.

The wyvern riders spotted the heron first, and one of the black-armored men leered as he raised a javelin to hurl at him. Dropping to the ground, Reyson raised his hands in a gesture of sacred prayer as his allies became aware of his presence, eliminating his awareness of the world around him as he readied the enchantments already resonating within him.

Reyson heard the whistle of the javelin as it flew, and a sharp _crack _before him as someone else deflected the blow. But that was no longer important, and even as the battle raged around him he dampened his excitement, opened his heart to serenity, and began to sing.

The song was haunting, ethereal, and vibrated in the air around him with such power that he could feel it against his very skin, feel his feathers brushing softly against each other from the energy of it. He could feel its power resonating all around him; from the forest bordering the mountains nearby, from the mountains themselves, from the sky and the clouds and even the soil now firmly beneath his feet. It vibrated, pulsed, and he called to the energy about him, captured it with his voice, and wove it to his will gently, with the grace and tenderness of one caring for a young child.

It responded to the familiarity of his voice and moved passively, happily, as he directed. His exhausted allies listened to the strength and beauty of his melodies with both awe and wonder. And though they did not understand, they found their pain suddenly slipping away, found their strength and will returning to their tired muscles and minds. With new vigor the Crimeans launched themselves, as one, at the startled wyvern riders; for the enemy, too, was captivated by the power of that haunting song, but in no way restored by it.

Reyson stumbled backwards with a tired sigh, but a feeling of satisfaction as well. He had aided his allies once again, and the beorc would now be able to hold the side lines until reinforcements could arrive. He could already see several others rushing to their aid, weapons held high as they approached the vicious wyvern. The situation would right itself soon.

The sudden sharp lance of pain caused him to leap back in surprise, and he glanced down in shock to find an arrow lodged loosely in his right shoulder. It was not particularly deep, but it seared with a touch like fire, and he grimaced heavily as his left hand came up to grip the shaft. The heron's wings flared instinctively in warning and in pain, and he had taken to the air before he thought to look around for the man responsible for his wound.

The sniper did not even attempt to conceal himself, and leered at the prince greedily as he reached behind his back for another arrow from his quiver. That arrow was meant for him, Reyson knew. With a sudden touch of panic the laguz looked around, searching for a nearby ally. The sniper had to be taken down before he could--

But there was no one, and Reyson barely managed to swoop aside as the second arrow shot with alarmingly fluid accuracy through the patch of air the prince had occupied only seconds before. Worry clenching at his heart painfully now, the heron began to soar in a zig-zag pattern, desperately trying to evade even as the sniper drew a third arrow and sighted along the shaft at him.

_Why was nobody stopping the man? _The birdman exhibited panic now as the third shot grazed the shoulder of his left wing; a hand span lower and the limb would have been pierced. _It should not be happening like this!_ Reyson was well aware of the risk he placed himself at on the field, but while he had encountered snipers and other dangerous Daein humans before, one of his allies had always managed to take down the offending soldier before any real harm could be caused. Yet this man went unopposed, and seemed to be devoting his full attention to dropping the prince. _Why?_ Why hadn't anyone killed the man yet?

He slid aside to avoid a fourth arrow, and instinctively swept higher, flapping his wings painfully against the strain as he did so. From his new vantage point he could see the full impossibility of the situation. The sniper was hidden from ground view by brush and foliage, and unless one of his own Crimean allies spotted the direction of the arrows it seemed the sniper would avoid any threat of battle.

Reyson had to escape himself, then. His expression was grim, and while his eyes flickered with fear he was determined. He would not be slaughtered by these filthy humans, not like the rest of his clan. Summoning his strength, he called to the energies of the forest once more and melted, fluidly and gracefully, into his true heron form. While no smaller a target, the bird's speed and agility was much higher, and the prince was sure he could move away from bow range safely this way.

The sniper below him seemed surprised at the change, but his dark grin returned a moment later, and he drew another arrow with almost gleeful intent. Reyson swerved aside in midair, and the black-fletched arrow soared upward, snapping the tip from one of his long tail feathers. _Too close. _

Something flashed past a small distance away, and Reyson's spirits fell. The wyvern were airborne, and had spotted him; should they reach him, he was most certainly going to die. He gave an almost instinctive wail of frustration from his heron's bill, and the sound carried, haunting and eerily beautiful, to the ground below.

Ulki heard it first, and disengaged from the Daein he had just defeated, abandoning the shredded armor and bleeding body to soar upwards in his hawk form. His eyes searched hastily for the prince he had sworn to protect, and the bird of prey screamed his own call of warning, swooping upward to protect the prince from the wyvern barreling towards him.

Ike recognized the call next, and glanced around worriedly for the prince he had also promised to protect. Even as he fluttered aside to avoid another black-fletched arrow, Reyson could spot the look of surprise and horror on the lord's face. At the same time, the prince felt triumph; for he could also see Ike's eyes trace the flight path of the arrow, and watch as the lord leaped forward towards the sniper's hidden location.

He would be saved. The heron felt the desperate relief flood through his fear-driven, exhausted body, even as he flapped his delicate wings and slipped to his left, taking a deep graze in his side. Just a few more minutes to survive, and then he would be safe. Ike was nearly there now, thundering through the brush to his assailant, and Ulki was ripping savagely at one of the airborne wyvern in an areal maneuver of wild skill. Just a little further.

The second wyvern came out of nowhere, diving down in front of him from above with a roar of predatory triumph. Startled and panicked, the prince's wings forced themselves into a back-thrusting movement, screaming painfully against the sudden change. But he was successful, avoiding the gaping jaws of the wyvern by a hair's breadth--

The impact was jarring as it hit him from behind, smashing with grueling pain into his left shoulder. He registered a second pain moments later, ripping through the wing membranes on the same side, and suddenly the appendage seemed unresponsive. Yet he couldn't be sure though haze of bright stars that suddenly obscured his vision...

He lost his focus and his consciousness, and for several moments was unaware of anything at all. When his mind groggily pushed itself back into control, he suddenly recognized two things: he had reverted to his half-beorc form, and he was falling at a very rapid pace towards the forest below.

Falling...falling was dangerous, he recognized hazily. He had to control it. He tried to spread his wings, and became aware of a third sensation: pain, sparks of agonizing pain, and something foreign embedded within the feathers and tendons that should not have been there, something very _wrong_...

Agony rolled over him in waves now, and he found his usually firm grip on reality slipping away at a far too quick a pace. His vision had already abandoned him to darkness, and he no longer struggled to overcome it. He was vaguely aware of the screaming cry of a hawk, and the shriek of a wyvern close by; he thought he recognized flit of an arrow passing him, resulting in a thud and another wyvern scream; and closer still, he could hear the whistling of the wind past his ears and the song of the forest below him.

But then all he recognized was pain, and after that, nothing at all.

-----

And there we have it, the conclusion of chapter 1.

Funny. This idea started as a one shot, and now it's expanded. This seems to be a habit of mine, and I'm not quite sure if it's an unfortunate one or not yet.

If anyone can guess what the title means...well you won't get anything beyond satisfaction, but I'll be impressed. Very impressed.

As always, if you leave a review, kindly give it some substance! I'd like to know what you like and what you don't. What could be done better? What was done well? Constructive criticism does wonders, so please help!

-Velkyn Karma


	2. Fall Awake

**Nelgetha**

Part two of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story.

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"Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within me which nothing could extinguish."

_--Frankenstein, _Mary Shelley

-----

Consciousness crept upon Reyson slowly, but while he had struggled so hard to reclaim it earlier, he now found his new awareness unpleasant and unwanted. The dull throbbing that he suffered while encased in blackness was hateful enough, but the searing pain that ripped through him when he began to awaken was unbearable.

He fell still, and his mental activity dropped once again. After a long time, the ripping pain finally died down, replaced once more by the dull throbbing. Tentatively, the prince began to test his new awareness, slowly and in stages, so as not to antagonize the agony waiting like a predator for him.

His understanding expanded slowly, and after some time his groggy mind was able to force itself around the concept that he was on his side, laying on a hard and painful surface. It was dark; his eyes were closed. There were sounds, but for now, too complex to fold his mind around. He ignored them and focused entirely on the sensation of physical touch.

His mind reached out tentatively, slowly moved around his body, recognizing and checking carefully and systematically. He could feel both legs, both arms, and his wings; nothing had been lost. But with recognition he also tapped into the pain embedded in these limbs, and groaned softly as his new awareness threatened to overwhelm him. His right arm throbbed painfully, as did his right leg. His wings were the worst, however. Searing agony lanced through him when his mind touched at them, so strong that his stomach churned with the nausea. He groaned again and lay still, waiting for the horrible sensation in his abdomen to pass.

But at last he adjusted to the overwhelming sensations of pain, and was able to recognize fully that he was injured, and where. Successful in orienting himself, he rested, breathing heavily from the surprisingly complex problem of waking.

At last, after his strength had built up once more, he wrenched his eyes open slowly. He was met with dim light, but it still hurt his eyes, and he squinted them until he was able to adjust.

Forest. He recognized with hazy surprise that he was lying on the forest floor, and that he had a clear view of gnarled roots building into a sturdy tree just by his head. Blinking slowly, he connected his vision to his other senses, and realized that he was laying on a thick patch of roots as well.

The whisper of the forest song now entered his awareness slowly, and he blinked again tiredly. This was not his forest, but he could still hear the music, and it comforted him slightly. Still, the sound was garbled and warped, and he was barely able to interpret more than a few moments before the dull throbbing in his body would overwhelm him and break his concentration.

He paused, rested again while his senses came to term with his latest discoveries, and then he slowly began to shift. His movements were agonizing, and he paused several times with a groan; never had he thought sitting up could be so difficult a task. But at last he had raised himself to his knees, and leaning against the tree trunk heavily he panted, caught his breath, and began to examine his surroundings.

Above him, the tree limbs were ripped and torn, as though something had crashed through them to the ground below. Reyson grimaced, both in pain and understanding. From the white feathers snagged occasionally in the cracked branches, and his own feelings of physical torment, there was no doubt what that 'something' had been. The canopy closed above him protectively, cutting off a direct view to the sky, but the damage beneath the surface was heavily evident.

Hissing once more in pain, the heron prince shifted and began to look himself over, assessing his injuries. A broken arrow shaft still pierced his right shoulder; he had never removed the arrow after he had first been shot. He could feel another broken shaft in the back of his left shoulder as well, and recognized with sudden realization that the painful impact that had hit him from behind had been an arrow. His right leg throbbed dully as well, and he realized that he had probably landed on it badly in his fall, though it did not appear broken. He was lucky. While painful, such injuries could be dealt with.

But if these injuries seemed mild, the damage to both of his wings was extensive, and he felt despair flood him as he examined them. His left wing had been pierced, and the barb of an arrow was still lodged painfully within his feathers—this was probably the second impact he had felt. His right wing was far worse; the fragile limb had been damaged heavily in the fall through the trees, and hung limp, bent at an unnatural angle. Even the slightest movement of the appendage sent waves of nausea through him, and he grit his teeth in frustration at the wound. A damaged wing was not only inhibiting of movement, but insulting. No laguz used to the skies could bear to be forcefully separated from them, for any period of time.

He clutched at his stomach with a grimace as the pain passed through him again, and felt even more powerfully the hopelessness begin to settle on his shoulders. He was injured, and badly. He could not hope to heal himself—his galdr of blessing, while highly beneficial to his wounded allies, would not affect his own health in any way. And he was separated from his allies, alone in hostile territory, very near to a full army of bloodthirsty Daein humans. What hope could he possibly have?

His mind searched frantically, and presented him with an answer—weak, but with a soft glimmer of hope. He was in the forest, and so he was not completely lost. Even if this was not his own Serenes, the trees could direct him if he asked.

Feeling slightly comforted, Reyson sat back against the tree once more and rested, recovering what little energy he had. Closing his eyes, the heron prince allowed his exhaustion to wash over him once more, and passed into a weary, pain-filled sleep.

He awoke roughly an hour later, and stirred groggily once more, accidentally sending another sharp sensation through his mind. Grimacing slightly, Reyson snapped his eyes open again, feeling slightly more refreshed.

He needed a plan, he realized. It was essential that he return to Ike's mercenary army immediately, or he would risk succumbing to his wounds, and he refused to die like a slaughtered beast. He would not give Daein the satisfaction.

His glimmer of hope returned to him. The trees would help him, he was sure of it. Concentrating carefully, he opened his mind to the forest's song, listening carefully to its music.

It was hard, very hard; much harder than it should have been. Reyson found his concentration slipping away with the irregular beat of his injuries, calling to him with gleeful antagonism, drowning out the quiet voices of the trees. He could catch snatches of their song, could recognize the excited and frantic melodies of their natural voices, and hear the mournful dirge of the trees he had inadvertently injured. But these were only snatches, not complete understanding, and he felt his last chance slipping away from him.

Now desperate, the prince opened his mouth and tried to communicate with the forest through the language of Serenes. But even now his pain interfered, and he was only able to manage a few small words before he choked, doubled over with an overwhelming sensation of nausea.

Panic set in. He could not even communicate with this forest; he really was as good as lost. He would die, unable to escape, succumbing to his wounds. This was not how Reyson pictured his end...

_No!_ His mind screamed at him sharply, overriding his panic. _They will search for you. The eyes and ears of Tibarn will not stop moving until they locate you; and Ike will send out a search party. I have nothing to fear...I must simply hold on. _That was all.

And he was not completely helpless, either, Reyson knew. He was not able to completely communicate with the trees, but they would still protect him if it was within their power, however slim. And if he moved, perhaps he would locate his allies faster. He was sure they were in a southwestern direction, and he could stumble that way as well as anyone with a little observation.

He would have to move, then. Reyson grimaced, already anticipating the punishment that he would receive for his trouble. But moving and trying to help himself was better than staying put and falling to despair, and so he resigned himself to the pain that would follow, and struggled to rise.

It took him ages, and he almost did not manage at all. Every time he moved his limbs would ache, scream in protest. Many times he collapsed against his will, breathing hard as he struggled to reorient himself, fighting off the darkness that threatened to overcome him many times. But at last he pulled himself to his feet, and leaning heavily against the trees he started off, moving in as much of a southwesterly direction as he could gauge from the tiny glimmers of the sun through the trees.

Movement was agonizing. Reyson's throbbing right leg did not want to take his weight, and he fought with himself for every step he took. His left wing was difficult to hold above ground level, and it was only with the greatest of willpower that he could keep it swept back in its usual upright position; his right wing was completely unresponsive and hung limp, dragging along the ground tortuously.

But he stumbled along, forcing himself to continue when he feared he could not. Something had taken hold of him, and he was afraid that if he stopped, he would not be able to continue, would not reach his allies and friends, would not escape this unfortunate predicament alive. He was desperate, and pushed himself onward, resting wearily against the sympathetic tree trunks when his legs began to tremble beneath him from the stress.

The prince was not sure how long he walked for, and the time flew by in a flurry of haziness and monotony. Indeed, he was hardly aware of his own surroundings or direction after hardly any time. Combating the pain of his wounds was difficult enough, and he could not spare his concentration to such matters. His direction began to veer, his thoughts wandered, his eyesight wavered.

He was aware rather suddenly of the impact as his body hit the ground, and noticed with a vague feeling of surprise that he had collapsed. He had not even realized he was falling, Reyson observed tiredly. Perhaps it was alright, though; he cold rest. Rest would not hurt him completely. His underlying fear of his inability to escape was smothered in the weary blackness that overtook him, and once more Reyson fell into a painful sleep.

The heron came to several hours later with a groan. His already injured limbs were growing stiff from disuse, and his broken wing throbbed more painfully than ever. He hissed, shifted, and weakly resisted the urge to vomit, though he was not sure how much longer he could fend off his nausea.

Up. He had to get up, get moving. The little voice in the back of his mind, the one that voiced his fears and anxieties, was pushing at him fretfully now that he had once more regained consciousness. He had to move, or he was going to die. Had to escape. Had to get free. Had to...

Reyson struggled, pushed with exhausted, pained limbs to get to his feet. His arms screamed with protest even as he felt the grating of the embedded shafts in his shoulders, and wondered feebly why he hadn't pulled them out yet. Something about blood, losing too much. Couldn't afford to. That was right...

He was shocked to find that he was suddenly on his hands and knees, and now struggled to gain his feet. His wings cried out now, objecting to their treatment, and the right one drooped in its painful awkward angle over his back. He had to do something about that...if it remained untreated for long it would set improperly, and he would never fly again.

The thought terrified him, and the resulting burst of strength pushed him to his feet. Help. He had to get back, to get help. The healers could fix him. Rhys' healing magic was powerful, surely he could mend a broken wing.

He was so preoccupied with his struggles that he did not recognize the soft snap nearby, or hear the warning chimes of the trees as they called to him. But as he leaned wearily against a particularly sturdy oak tree he became aware of the sudden, soft gasp not twenty paces from him. With a start he turned to locate the noise, grimacing terribly as another spark of pain swept through his broken wing.

His hopes rose at the noise. Perhaps the search party had found him. The voice had sounded a bit like Mist, and she was a healer...she could help him with this pain, and make it stop, ensure that he would fly again...

But his hopes shattered just as quickly as they were formed, and he stared in horrified surprise at the figure across from him. His vision was fuzzy from the pain, not as accurate as it could be; but there was no mistaking the young woman that stared at him with wide eyed surprise and recognition of his race. Nor was there any mistaking her alliance, for although she looked too young to be a soldier, the bow slung across her back looked lethal enough, and her clothes were clearly Daein.

-----

And chapter 2 is completed. Yay.

This is awfully short in comparison to what I usually write. But considering it was originally planned to be a one-shot, I suppose this makes sense.

I apologize for any misconceptions regarding Mist in the past chapter. I seem to have confused quite a few of you with simple bad wording. The problem has been remedied, so thanks for pointing it out (intentionally or no).

Special thanks to my betta, who made me finish editing this chapter. And no, I do not mean a reader; I mean the fish. His tank is on my desk and he wouldn't stop staring at me until this was posted. And people say fish are useless...hah!

As always, if you review, kindly give me a little more than "that's good" or "that's bad." I like to know what you liked or didn't like, what you think could be improved and what you thought was done well. It helps a lot. Thank you!

--Velkyn Karma


	3. Flight Fright

**Nelgetha**

Part three of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story, as well as the character Maeya.

-----

"If someone shows you who they are, believe them."

-----

Through his haze of pain Reyson found himself stiffening, staring across at his sudden enemy in shock. _Why now? _his mind wailed in desperation, even as he leaned heavily against the thick oak supporting him. Why now, when he was so clearly weak, helpless, at the mercy of his enemy? It was unfair, wrong. He did not want to die at the hands of a filthy Daein human like some pathetic kept fowl.

The girl did not move, only stared at him in surprise, and the thought occurred fleetingly in his hazy mind that she had, perhaps, never seen a laguz before. This could work to his advantage, he recognized feebly, but only if he seized the opportunity now.

Fighting to overcome his pain, the prince reacted immediately, working just as much in fear as in defense. He twisted, struggling to hide his broken right wing while he flared his left one as best as able, feathers spreading wide; it made him seem much larger than he truly was. Crouching defensively, he hissed like a threatened bird defending its nest, and cursed himself fervently for lacking the powerful talons and ripping beaks of his cousins. If the woman truly desired to attack, she could kill him easily without receiving so much as a scratch in return.

But the archer seemed to have no knowledge of this, and she backed up a pace, gasping slightly at his defensive show. He felt his hopes rise—perhaps he could escape unscathed. Though it seemed unlikely, he thought grimly. Her weapon was one of range. She would not have to approach him to end his life.

The girl hesitated, but did not reach for her bow, or back away further. This frustrated the pained heron, and he shook his better wing threateningly, trying to ignore the searing pain that ran up the feathered limb and into his consciousness. If he was forced to continue this much longer he would collapse. He did not have the strength to endure this strain or stress.

She opened her mouth suddenly and spoke, and to his amazement Reyson realized she was trying to talk to him. "A-are you a...a sub-human?"

He hissed at the hateful words. Another filthy human! He would not give her the satisfaction of taunting him before death. Feigning ignorance, he returned a hateful phrase at her in the language of the Serenes. "_Foolish human...your idiocy disgusts me."_

The woman looked surprised at the graceful, fluid language that slid from his tongue, and her eyes glittered. She was enthralled, Reyson realized with further disgust. Humans were all the same: they hated him for being laguz, or became enamored of him for his appearance as an owner loves a piece of art. It sickened him.

But then her gaze fell to disappointment, and she sighed. "Oh...you don't understand me then, I guess..." She paused, and then took a hesitant step forward.

Reyson hissed again, a guttural warning sound that came instinctively from the depths of his throat, and tried to step backwards. But his legs were already weakened from the stress he had endured in this unpleasant meeting, and they gave way beneath him. With a soft, yet strangely ethereal cry of pain, the prince fell against the thick tree trunk already supporting him. He slid, dragging, down its side, collapsing into a disorganized heap at its roots. His broken right wing crumpled beneath him, and he let loose another choked groan. The laguz was loathe to show his weaknesses to his enemy, but he could not hold the cries in, the pain was too much now...

"Oh!" the woman gasped in surprise, as she caught sight of the snapped wing and the broken shafts embedded in his shoulders. "You're hurt..." And she stepped forward quickly, hands outstretched, reaching for him.

Reyson panicked, unleashed a hissing scream vaguely reminiscent of the shrieks of his hawk cousins, but far softer. The cry encased all his pain and misery as well as his warning, and he tried to flare his stronger wing once more, though the attempt was feeble.

The woman froze in place, startled and nervous looking, and did not move forward again. Satisfied for the moment, but still terribly aware of the danger, the heron began to shuffle weakly backwards away from her—he could no longer find the strength to stand. His broken wing dragged painfully after him, limp and useless, and he grimaced as agonizing bolts shot through him again and again with each minuscule movement.

"Oh, don't!" the woman yelped, looking helpless and holding up her hands imploringly. "You'll hurt yourself more, your poor wing...!"

Reyson froze, panting with exhaustion, and glared at her with wary hatred boiling beneath his fatigue. If he did not know the Daein scum better, he would have guessed that was _worry _in her tone. But all Daeins hated the "sub-humans," and he would not be foolish enough to fall for their loathsome tricks. He paused, rested for a few moments, and continued to drag himself backward.

"Oh, please," she said again, and now she sounded helpless as well. "Don't hurt yourself more, please...let me help you." But Reyson only ignored her words, continued to watch her warily, and pulled himself backward. He needed to find a place to stand. If he could stand, he could match her, maybe get away from her. It was a slim chance, but a possibility...

The woman gave a sudden sad smile. "I...I see. I suppose I can't blame you." She dropped her gaze and played with her hands nervously, speaking hesitantly even after she had determined that Reyson 'did not understand her.' "I mean...my people are your enemy, aren't they? And they don't seem to like sub-humans much..."

Reyson hissed low in his throat at the word and backed up a little further, flinching at the pain in his wing as he moved. The woman blinked in surprise, and her head jerked up suddenly as if in revelation.

"Oh! I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..." she flushed in embarrassment, looking apologetic. "I mean...it just slipped out, that's all. I've been taught that all my life. But you know," she added suddenly, and a sheepish, conspiratorial grin passed over her face, "I heard somewhere that that isn't _really _what you're called. You're actually called...ah...laguz, was it? Right?"

Her lips had fumbled clumsily over the word, and she looked anxious as she said it. But even so, hearing this Daein filth properly address him shocked Reyson to his core, wiped away his pain for the barest of moments. Why would this _human _care about what to call him? All humans were the same; self centered and disgusting, thinking themselves far above the laguz when they held no such rank, and Daeins were the worst example of all of such humans.

His shock must have been evident on his face, even through his pained grimace, because she gave a soft chuckle. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to surprise you. Oh, or perhaps I made a fool of myself. Did I say it right? I bet I pronounced it wrong...I'm sorry." She hesitated, and then added, "My mother would be throwing a fit if she knew I was talking to a...a 'sub-human,' is what she calls you...but I don't see why." She smiled at him. "You're the first...laguz...that I've met, but you don't seem so bad. In fact, you look very pretty!"

Of course, he thought with disgust. She was the _other _human then; the type that gawked at his appearance, would keep him as an item if she had the power to. He thought back to Oliver with a grimace, and shifted himself away from her further, hissing in pain.

"Oh, please don't!" she said helplessly, the grin on her face gone. "It would be terrible if you hurt yourself more. I...I don't want to hurt you. I'd like to help you, if you'll let me--"

"_Never!_" he spat at her, once again in the language of the forest, but even so the vicious tone of his voice was painfully clear.

The woman flinched at the tone of his voice, but her eyes softened almost immediately at the soft groan of pain that escaped his throat afterwards. "Isn't there anything I can do to make you trust me?" she asked helplessly. "Ah...perhaps...well, maybe this would work?" She hesitated, but then unslung the bow from her back.

Reyson started backwards, eyes widening in both hatred and fear. She would kill him now. His life was forfeit. He flared his left wing feebly once again in an effort to drive her away, struggled to raise himself to his feet. He would not die wallowing in the dirt while his enemy stood above him.

"Don't!" the woman called sharply, looking worried, as he struggled to rise. "You're going to hurt yourself!" And to his amazement, she removed both the bow and her quiver of arrows, and tossed them with care several feet behind her into the bushes.

"There, see?" She turned back to him now, met his eyes, and spoke soothingly. "I don't want to be an enemy. I just want to help you. Can...can I come closer?"

The heron was not exactly sure what had occurred. His mind was hazy from the pain lancing through all of his senses, and his breath came in short gasps as he tried desperately to breathe. But he was aware, dimly, of the significance of her act. Without their weapons, the humans were as helpless as newborns compared to the laguz, and to willingly give up her only defense was similar to his cousins surrendering their privilege to their claws or talons. It made no rational sense. Perhaps this was a very elaborate trap? But that was pointless; he was already helpless and could be just as easily subdued without requiring further trickery.

No, something about this woman seemed...different. Rather like when he had first met Ike, or Tormod, or spent time among the laguz-friendly mercenaries. Perhaps she was not a _normal _Daein human?

His flared wing lowered slowly, gratefully; the barb embedded within it had been tearing painfully at the fragile muscle and bone of the limb, and he was not sure how much longer he could have managed the display. He ceased trying to stand, struggling instead to simply remain sitting upright, and watched the woman warily.

She smiled softly as his defensive form lowered and began to step forward, tentatively at first, but soon gaining confidence. Her movements were gentle, nonthreatening, and she held up her arms in an appealing gesture. "That's good," she said softly. "I'm glad you trust me. I just want to help, that's all."

Her actions surprised his dazed mind. He could not understand why this human was acting so kindly. Perhaps she still had a motive, but he was too exhausted to care anymore. He could not escape her anyway. What was the point in fighting?

She came to stand before his kneeling form, now only a few paces from his broken, exhausted body. This was the moment when she would take action, Reyson knew. Perhaps she would kill him then and there, to insult his pride, or maybe she would capture him and bring him back to her Daein companions. He already knew, rather bitterly, that his selling price on the laguz slave market was fantastically high.

But whatever action he had been expecting from her, it was certainly not what she did next. She did not leap to kill him, to torture him, to bind his limbs and force him back to her company.

She bowed before him politely, a deep bow that Reyson vaguely realized was reserved for human nobles alone. And then she smiled at him, and said rather sheepishly, "Well, I don't mean to seem odd or anything, but...it's just that you seem to look like a very important person to me, and I thought maybe I should pay my respects first." She knelt before him with a cheerful grin, soft and reassuring. "Oh...and my name is Maeya, in case you were wondering."

Reyson's shock was unparalleled, flooding his mind and combating briefly the waves of agony that plagued him. He had expected nothing of this sort from a filthy Daein. The Daein people did not care about his own, would never care about the 'sub-humans' they so loathed.

But Maeya, he realized suddenly, was not the same as most Daeins. And in his mind, her identity had gained not only a name, but had shifted subtly but powerfully from "human" to "Beorc."

------

And there's chapter three for you. We are going somewhere with this, trust me. Fear not; this still remains a non-pairing fic, and will never change.

Is anyone else fascinated by how bizarrely _pretty _Reyson is? He always reminds me of an angel. A rather distrustful, grudge-keeping angel, but an angel nonetheless. It's probably good that I can't actually meet him then, because while I'd attempt to treat him respectfully I don't think I'd be able to stop staring at him, either.

Plus he has wings, and wings are _awesome, _and I love drawing them. I'd probably want to study them too much and I bet that'd make him altogether unhappy with me. Oops.

If you leave a review, as always, put some _meat _in it! I want to hear what you liked or didn't like, what you thought was done well, what could be improved. It helps a lot more than you could possibly imagine.


	4. Breaking Babylon

**Nelgetha**

Part four of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story, as well as the character Maeya.

-----

"The devil, depend upon it, can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing."

-_The Suicide Club, _Robert Louis Stevenson

-----

There was silence for a moment or two, and Reyson took the opportunity to shift into a slightly more comfortable sitting position. He tried to ignore the throb in his right leg as best as possible—there was little he could do about that, after all.

The movement shifted his broken right wing, and he hissed involuntarily in pain, immediately twisting to try and relieve stress on the limb. Maeya gave a sympathetic cry and held out her hands imploringly. "Oh, don't move anymore...you'll make it worse. May...may I look at it for you?"

Reyson was not ready to admit that he understood her language yet—that was a secret he would save for an emergency. But she pantomimed her intent and pointed at his injured wing several times as she spoke, and with a hesitant, slow movement he nodded, giving her permission.

The woman smiled and scooted forward a few paces to the injured limb, and Reyson fought his instinctual need to flee. He was very particular about who he allowed to approach him closely—even more particular after his unfortunate incident with Oliver—and allowing even this good-intent Beorc close grated against his very instinct and reason. Even as he stayed put, his muscles quivered in anticipation of flight, and he watched the beorc with wary caution.

But Maeya was surprisingly gentle as she reached out for his broken wing, running her dexterous archer's fingers over the appendage carefully to assess the damage. Reyson had expected the clumsy touch of a beorc unaccustomed to the fine-boned structure of the wing, but this woman seemed adept at her examination, causing only the barest flickers of extra pain as she ran her fingers through his once-pristine white feathers.

"Oooh," she murmured sympathetically, as her careful hands located the main break, and Reyson flinched at the touch. "This looks bad...it must be so painful!" She turned to look at the prince's face, and said quickly, "I...think I need to make a splint for this. It's pretty bad. Just...just stay put, okay? Don't move, I'll be right back." She gestured at the ground several times, indicating that he should remain where he was, and he once again nodded slowly, warily.

Maeya skittered off into the woods quickly, and Reyson lost sight of her within moments. A grim look settled over his face. Had she gone to get reinforcements, now that she knew how damaged he was? He disliked the situation, but he was too exhausted to move anymore. If more enemies came, then they came; there was nothing more he could do to defend himself. Grimacing deeply, he settled back wearily against another tree trunk, falling slowly into a grateful doze.

The prince awoke a short time later to a soft crashing through the brush, and then a dragging noise just beside him. Blearily he opened his eyes, turning his head slightly to find the location of the sound.

Maeya was back, and amazingly enough to the heron, she was still alone. Tossed on the ground beside her was the origin of the unusual dragging noise—two long, sturdy sticks, already devoid of all their twigs and leaves.

The beorc woman spotted his gaze and gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you or anything. You must be exhausted...how long have you been hurt?"

Reyson did not answer, of course, and only watched her quietly as she removed a small vial from a pouch at her waist. She smiled at him reassuringly and began to measure the small branches against his injured limb, shaving them down with a small hunting knife until the size satisfied her.

"I used to take care of little birds in my garden back home, before we had to leave because of the war," she explained cheerfully, mostly to break the silence, for she still believed Reyson could not understand her. "Sometimes little sparrows would fall out of their nests and injure themselves, or sometimes a big storm would come by and knock them right out of the air. I learned how to treat the poor little things so they could fly again, so I think I understand how wings work pretty well. But," she added, with a rather sheepish smile, "I've never tended to a wing quite your size before, so I'm not sure if this will work...and I apologize in advance if this hurts."

The heron prince kept his expression as neutral as possible, fighting the throbbing shots of pain that flickered through his consciousness, and watched quietly. Maeya had now set the prepared branches aside and was tearing a cloth into strips with her knife, measuring their lengths carefully. After several minutes she nodded, pleased with her handiwork, and circled around behind him to approach his broken wing without kneeling on his feathers and accidentally pulling them free.

"Okay," she said softly under her breath. "Here we go..." And drawing one of the small branches close to her, she ran her fingers once more over the delicate bones of his right wing, located the break, and pressed the awkward angle back into its original position.

Reyson had been prepared for pain, but had not expected quite this level of agony. He gasped, arched his back, beat his left wing helplessly in reaction, and from his throat there echoed the same distressed hissing scream he had used earlier. His eyes watered and he clamped them shut, clenched his teeth to try and suppress his cries. He would not show weakness. He could not afford to.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Maeya yelped helplessly, but even as she apologized she worked quickly. The strength of her archer's arms held his broken limb in position, keeping the heron from injuring it further in his frantic distress, and her nimble fingers moved quickly, pressing the second small branch alongside the broken bone and binding the two into place. Her movements were efficient, and within the span of only a few minutes the wing was bound, firmly but not too tightly, and neatly set.

Reyson gasped and panted, his strength gone as he flopped weakly against the tree at his back. The pain jabbed through his every sense repeatedly, striking again and again like a viper's bite. But as he waited, rested, recovered from the ordeal, the pain slowly began to fade away, and he became aware instead of a cooling sensation in the broken limb causing him so much trouble.

Feebly the heron prince lifted himself enough to glance in the direction of the troublesome appendage. Maeya's handiwork was neat and efficient, and the broken bones were now forced firmly back into place. Even if he could not find a healer, the wing would heal naturally and correctly on its own. He could be flying in a matter of weeks.

Even more surprising, the laguz found, was that the beorc was now rubbing an ointment carefully into the broken skin—the origin of the cooling sensation. It was strangely comforting, and he found the pain melting away as she worked.

Maeya smiled cheerfully at him as he looked over, and held up the vial she had removed from her pouch earlier. "It's a healing ointment," she explained. "An old family recipe. It helps wounds heal faster, and I figured you could use it."

Summoning his strength together, Reyson murmured in his own Serenes language in response. "_I do not understand why you do these things. I am your enemy."_

But she did not understand, and only gave him a sad smile. "I'm sorry," she answered. "I'm...not really sure what you're trying to tell me." She observed him and considered. "But you look exhausted. I bet that took a lot out of you...and I don't blame you! Why don't you take a break, and then I'll help you with your other injuries." Her eyes flickered to the shafts embedded in his shoulders with a grimace, and—Reyson couldn't be sure, his vision was so hazy, but—it seemed that she had a look of guilt on her face as well.

She moved to kneel in front of him again, and spoke to him cheerfully even as he drifted in a half doze, building his strength once more. The woman seemed quite at ease with him now, and chattered to him as if they were old friends, explaining in brief about herself. Her family had been simple farmers, tilling the land and selling their produce in a market near her old home. They had lived mostly in isolation at the base of the nearby mountains, until the war began; then soldiers would pass their farm day after day. When the advancing Crimean army began to come too close for comfort, her family had abandoned their farm and joined a large camp of refugees, which was apparently close by and growing daily.

"Anyone who knew how to use a weapon, and hadn't been recruited by the army, was asked to guard the refugee camp," she explained to her new companion. "I'd been hunting with a bow quite a bit, so they asked me to do some patrols. And to think, if I hadn't been recruited for that, we'd have never met! I don't think I could bear to miss meeting a...a laguz." She smiled proudly at the use of the word, and looked to the heron for approval.

Reyson was not entirely sure what to think of the woman now. She was clearly Daein by her own admission, and her companions would kill him on sight if they knew of him. But this beorc was friendly, had helped him despite her peoples' teachings, and continued to speak to him on friendly terms even when she was sure they could not communicate. It was...odd. Yes, odd, Reyson realized, and very similar to when he had first met Ike and his companions, begun to realize that not all beorc were cruel and heartless. Perhaps it was the same of the Daeins...perhaps a race or a people could not be labeled based on reputation alone.

"Think you're ready for me to take care of your other injuries?" Maeya asked suddenly, getting up and stepping towards him once more. "We probably shouldn't hang around too much longer...they might start to wonder where I am, and if they come searching for me...I don't want them to hurt you." She bit her lip slightly.

Reyson only nodded as she approached, and she smiled again, setting to her work with a will. The other injuries were not nearly so extensive, and required far less of the healing ointment, as well as causing far less pain (for which Reyson was grateful). Maeya removed the shafts in his shoulders and bound the injuries before they could bleed too terribly, spreading a thin coating of ointment over the wounds as she did so. She treated his left wing with extraordinary care, removing the twisted, barbed arrow with such gentle movements that she removed only a few feathers with it in the process, and tended to the pierced injury very delicately.

As she worked, she hummed, and then began to sing, mostly for her own entertainment; a one sided conversation could only go so far. Despite the situation, Reyson could not help but grimace. Maeya's voice was atrocious, and even without knowing the folk tunes she favored, his finely tuned ear could tell she was horridly off-key.

The woman caught his grimace, unrelated to any of the treatments she gave him, and gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, dear," she said, blushing, "I-I'm sorry. I like to sing, but I know I'm not very good at it...I probably sound terribly silly compared to you. Your voice is very pretty, even if I can't understand what you're saying. I bet you sing very well."

He snorted lightly in response and flexed his left wing carefully as she finished with it, testing her handiwork. It was imperfect, but would do until he could find his way back to Ike's army. And with the aid she had given him, his pain had diminished considerably. It still remained as a dull throb that he registered in the back of his mind, but he could counter it, focus clearly on other elements around him now.

"I think we're done," Maeya finished, standing up as she observed her patient. "Unless there's anything else...? No? Well then, you'd better get moving. If the others find you..." she trailed off, bit her lip again, and then held out her hand to help him up.

Reyson hesitated, but then reached out with one of his delicately gloved hands to meet hers. She grasped it firmly and pulled him to his feet, steadying him carefully as he put his weight on still-weakened limbs.

"Think you'll be okay?" she asked after a moment, stepping back to observe him again. Reyson paused, took a careful step, and kept his feet. His balance felt off—his right wing was still held at an awkward angle from the splint, and he could not fold it completely behind him. But he could move, and would be able to traverse the forests without too much of a problem. Turning, he nodded quietly to her.

Maeya clapped her hands together happily, and then held out the small vial of healing ointment to him. "Here. You take this. It'll help." He shook his head, unwilling to accept further help, but she pressed it into his hands. "Go on, take it! You've still got to get back to the Crimeans, right? I'm not sure where they are, but you probably still have a lot of walking to do."

Reyson sighed, but accepted the vial without further complaint. It would probably help to stem the pain in his limbs further, at any rate, and he _did_ still have quite a walk ahead of him.

Maeya made a shooing motion now, pantomiming leaving. "You should go now," she said, her voice urgent. "I need to get back to camp so they don't miss me. And whatever you do, _don't _go that way!" She pointed, indicating the direction of her temporary home.

Reyson nodded, but hesitated. As before, when he had first met Ike, he had been helped by a beorc; and as before, he disliked leaving his debts unpaid. This woman had saved him from almost certain death or capture, a feat that he had not expected from anyone of Daein, and he did not want to leave such an action unrewarded.

She seemed to guess at his thoughts from his expression, and shook her head. "It's okay," the woman assured him. "I really liked helping you, you don't have to pay me back or anything. It was enough just to meet you. I've never met a laguz before, like I told you...and you're such a pretty laguz, too. I didn't know laguz could be like you." She smiled at him, and for once Reyson found himself not minding her comments about his appearance. "I've heard lots of stories about the bird laguz before, but that's all. I even heard some of them have the power to bring trees back to life! Oh," she added, rather sheepishly, "but you probably know more about that than I do..."

_If only she had the vaguest idea just how much more I _do _know than her,_ Reyson could not help but think wryly. Yet despite her assurances, he still did not like leaving his debts unpaid.

And then the answer came to him, and after hesitating only slightly, he gave her the one gift left available to him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and quietly began to sing.

The song was nothing special, really. It encased no enchantments, did not belong to the galdr, contained no hidden prophecies or stories as old as time. It was simply a song of the natural elements around him, and nothing more. The beorc, he had realized, could not hear the trees or the sky or the earth beneath their feet, but with his help they could; and so he captured their own songs in his voice, translated it into the fluid and hauntingly beautiful melodies that the beorc senses could comprehend.

It was no special effort for him, and to the senses of the heron of Serenes it was as easy as repeating the sentence his allies had just spoken. But for Maeya, it was something mystical, enchanting, and she listened to his voice with awe, captured in the enthralling natural beauty he wove.

Until at last, his voice died away, and though Reyson had only been singing for bare minutes, it seemed like hours to the young archer. She smiled at him, and her eyes glistened brightly as she bowed in front of him once again.

"Thank you," she whispered. "That was beautiful. I...I don't think I'll ever forget that. I'll keep it with me forever in my memory." She smiled at him softly. "Please stay safe. I think I would hate it if...my people were to kill you."

And then Maeya turned, and pausing only to reclaim her bow and quiver she scurried off once more through the trees. Reyson watched quietly, and listened to the whispers of the trees around him for several minutes in the stillness. The forest resonated softly around him, sang quietly to him that she had truly left. And it was then that Reyson realized he was alone once more...but not in quite the same way as he had been before.

-----

And there we have chapter four, completed. The final chapter will be the conclusion, so stick around and hang tight.

And now, for more Reyson observations. Are any of you familiar with the _Wayfarer Redemption_ series by **Sara Douglass**? And if so, is Reyson not the spitting image of an Icarii Enchanter? If you're not familiar with the book or the Icarii race, here's a quick rundown of bizarre similarities for you:

_-The Icarii are a 'winged man/birdman' race...in other words they're people with massive wings._

_-The Icarii are one of three races in their continuity, along with the Avar (the beast-people), and the Acharites (humans)_

_-Both Icarii and Avar are frequently referred to (rather insultingly) as "The Forbidden" by the humans, who think they are a cursed evil race. This is largely born out of misconception and the meddlings of one super-evil god._

_-The Icarii were also driven from their forest-homes by the humans, who ripped down and destroyed the forests in a war that rebelled against the arrogant Icarii race, and fueled by the hatred of the aforementioned super-evil god. Most Icarii bear a bit of a grudge against humans as a result._

_-The Icarii Enchanters, a specific type of gifted Icarii, are extraordinarily powerful magic users. Their magic does not come from spellbooks or artifacts, however, but from **singing. Singing the correct songs or melodies affects different forms of magic, be it elemental, healing, or re-creation.**_

_-StarDrifter Sunsoar, the main Icarii Enchanter in the series, pretty much looks just like Reyson (at any rate, I believe he is described as being extraordinarily beautiful and having fair hair, so I always pictured them similarly)._

_-While it's not their specialty, most Icarii Enchanters (and StarDrifter specifically) are able to listen to and communicate with trees by singing._

In fact, the only major differences I can find between the two races (beyond the obvious 'different continuity' bit) is that Reyson can turn into an actual heron, while the Icarii remain completely half-human, half-bird their entire lives. The Icarii, however, have a tendency to reflect birds-of-prey in their wing shapes, and they use weaponry—specifically bows.

Bizarre, ne? I'm convinced Reyson is secretly an Icarii. That's why he's so damn pretty (damn his prettiness!)

As always, if you choose to leave a review, kindly leave some substance in it. What did you like? What didn't you like? What was done well? What could be improved? Your input helps a lot, so do pitch in!

--Velkyn Karma


	5. Crack In Adamantine

**Nelgetha**

Part five of a fanfiction by Velkyn Karma

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, or pretend to own, the _Fire Emblem _game series or any of its subsequent characters, plots or other ideas. That right belongs solely to Nintendo and Intelligent Systems. The only thing here that's mine is the idea for the story, as well as the character Maeya.

-----

"The more we know the better we forgive. Whoever feels deeply, feels for all who live."

-Madame de Stael

-----

Reyson basked in the calm and the of the forest for several minutes, listening to the gentle murmur of the trees around him, before he finally turned on his heel to continue moving. He still felt tired, and leaned on the thick, supportive trunks around him as he moved, but his step was no longer heavy and quivering from fatigue. As long as he rested occasionally, he was sure he would be fine.

The light around him was beginning to dim, and the prince realized with a start that night was approaching. The battle had taken place in the early hours of the morning, meaning he had been absent from Ike's army for nearly a full day. They would be frantic, now. He needed to return to them as soon as possible.

That feat, he realized with satisfaction, while seemingly impossible just hours earlier, was now quite far within the realm of possibility. Now that he was no longer distracted by lancing pain, only the dull throb that had settled in the back of his consciousness, he could communicate with the forest and find his way back to his companions.

Communing with the trees was simple. He opened his mind to their melodies and listened, and sang softly back in the tongue of Serenes to ask his question. Their voices resonated and hummed about him, and the answer came whispering back within moments; the trees called him in the direction he needed, and he followed their voices, utterly trusting. The forests would never lie to him.

He walked for several hours at a slow pace, resting against the trees whenever his weariness overcame him, until he had built up the strength to continue. Reyson tried to avoid stopping whenever possible, for if he waited too long his limbs became stiff and unmanageable, an uncomfortable sensation. His wings, too, had stiffened from disuse, though he knew better than to try and move them at the moment. He certainly did not want to irritate his injuries further.

But stiffness was by far preferable to pain, and if that was the price he paid for his moments of rest he was satisfied. He no longer feared that he would be unable to continue if he stopped. Survival was well within his abilities.

Occasionally twinges of pain would return as he moved, especially in his right wing. A sharp jolt or reaching tap of a branch would send him cringing from bolts of pain that ran up his injured limbs. But he would apply a little of the healing ointment Maeya had given him, and his pain would fade away within moments, making his travels once again bearable.

Maeya.

He spent most of his time thinking of his unusual circumstances with the woman, and the more he thought, the more he realized that he truly did not understand the beorc. They were unreasonable, irrational beings, and no matter how he observed them, their actions never made any sense. Many beorc were violent, willing to slaughter entire races that differed from them just because they had different opinions or appearances. They were bloodthirsty and cruel, creating terrible weapons to kill the laguz and even each other—Reyson could simply not comprehend why the beorc would want to attack their own cousins, their own race.

And yet, even as he had begun to understand the savagery that was the human, other beorc had stepped forward to shatter his opinion utterly. Ike, who had defended his own Leanne from the barbaric fate of slavery, had stood up for himself and his cousins against his own countrymen, against even nobles. Tormod, the young beorc who had taken it upon himself to liberate all the laguz slaves, risking his life to protect a people that were not his own. Even the Begnion Apostle, who had knelt before him despite her highly coveted noble stature to beg for his forgiveness. None of them had acted in the way he had expected of their brutal people, and he had been forced to slowly rethink his opinion on the beorc.

And now Maeya, who had shattered his views on the beorc once again. Reyson had been so certain that, while some beorc could be trusted, others could never be classified as anything more than bloodthirsty savages. And Daein had taken the highest place on this list of vicious humans. They were responsible for all the pain and misery Reyson and his allies had suffered, and still did suffer. They were the ones who forced all this warfare upon the rest of the world. They were incapable of kindness, of understanding, of opening their narrow minds to the possibility of other possibilities.

Except, the heron realized quietly, tiredly, they were _not_ incapable. Maeya had proved to him that not all Daeins were heartless and cruel, just as Ike had proved to him that not all beorc were to be distrusted and hated.

Reyson was not sure how to respond to this. He did not want to let go of his hatred quite yet. The murder of his beloved forest, the memory of all the pain and suffering that had been caused, would not leave him alone completely. He would never forget such things, would be incapable of forgetting. And deep within, he did not like the feeling that he had been wrong, and repeatedly; did not like the thought that perhaps it was he, and not the Daeins, who kept his mind narrow.

But he was beginning to understand now, slowly but surely, that the beorc could not all be classified by the actions of a simple few. For all their faults, they also possessed many strengths, and were as diverse and varied as each individual tree in the forests. They could not be labeled. And perhaps some of them, at least, could be forgiven.

He broke from his thoughts as the song of the trees around him rose, grew excitable. There was somebody coming, the trees whispered, and they believed it was an ally of his, but they were not entirely sure. Forewarned, Reyson became more alert, wary of a possible approaching enemy.

The orange cloak and burning torch stood out painfully bright among the trees even in the dark of night, and Reyson recognized Tormod within seconds of the young boy's movement into view. His heart rising at the sight of a friend and ally, the laguz began to move forward slowly, taking care to keep upright to the best of his ability.

He called out, and Tormod's head snapped around. Within seconds the young mage was running towards him, face breaking into his characteristic smirking grin, his torch held high. "Great prince of the heron! There you are!"

"Please call me Reyson," the heron responded immediately, but his expression broke into a grateful smile at the overly familiar title. It was good to be back within the safety of camp parameters once more.

"Reyson, right," the redhead responded absently. "We've been looking all over for you. Everyone is frantic! Are you hurt? You took quite a dive, there..." The mage glanced over Reyson quickly, and then turned to yell over his shoulder. "Hey, Sothe! He's over here, go let the others know!"

There was a soft movement in the darkness of the trees, and then a green-clad figure stepped into the torchlight, giving Reyson a momentarily curious look. The prince recognized the figure—he had seen the boy on the battlefield more than once, and knew the young thief was far more dangerous and agile than he first appeared. But before he could scrutinize further the boy had turned and vanished into the darkness, blending in as smoothly as another shadow to deliver his message.

Tormod turned back to the weary heron prince, raising his torch even higher to get a better look. "You look really beat up...ah! What happened to your wing?" He pointed in surprise at the bound right limb, staring in confusion at its odd angle.

"I will explain when we return to camp," Reyson answered tiredly. "I do not wish to tell the story more than once."

Tormod seemed to catch on to the exhaustion in his voice, because he nodded. "Right then. Just come this way, and Rhys'll have you fixed up nice and quick."

Reyson hardly remembered the journey back into the depths of the camp, and was only dimly aware that he had fallen asleep at some point. He seemed to vaguely recall being carried on someone's back, with another set of hands carefully holding his wings up to prevent further injury. And, as if from a far-away dream, he was barely able to remember figures hovering about him as he was laid down to rest on his stomach, and gentle hands running over his feathers, accompanied by the warm touch of healing. But then there was nothing more than a comfortable, friendly darkness that welcomed him into a soothing rest, and he knew little more.

When he woke next, it was to the bright mid-morning sunlight, filtering through a tent that he recognized as his own after a moment's inspection. Lifting himself into a sit, he flexed his wings tentatively and found them both completely healed, though his right wing remained a bit stiff. His shoulders, leg and arm felt perfectly fine as well, other than a bit of soreness, which he knew would pass with time. He really _had _made it back then, and none of this was a dream.

"Ah, good," came a voice from beside him, and Reyson turned his head to spot the priest, Rhys, sitting nearby. The young man smiled gently and nodded. "I thought you would be waking up soon. How do you feel?"

"Sore," Reyson answered truthfully, "but no pain."

"That's good to hear," the priest answered with another soft smile. "We've been terribly worried about you—some far more than others. Ulki and Janaff especially, but Ike has been very concerned too. It seems it's all worked out for the best, though."

"I...see."

"They'd probably like to talk to you, if you feel up to it. You came back in a very unusual state," Rhys added, looking a little perplexed. "You were injured, yet it looked like your wounds had already been tended to somehow. But it couldn't have been you—the angle of the bindings on the splint was all wrong, certainly." He gave Reyson a bewildered look.

"It's fine," the heron prince answered quickly. "Let them in, and I will explain."

The three arrived within record time, and it seemed all of them had been waiting for the heron to awaken. They managed to crush themselves, wings and all, into the space alongside Rhys with considerable difficulty and moderate levels of comfort. After they had arranged themselves and offered their relief and thankfulness for his safe return, Ulki spoke up.

"I apologize for being unable to rescue you, Prince Reyson," the hawk laguz said slowly, looking unusually distressed. "I should have spotted the second wyvern that attacked you. If I had stopped it, you would not have recoiled into the paths of the sniper arrows."

"I'm sorry, too," Janaff added, his usual smirk replaced with a more solemn look. "I should have stayed closer to you. Tibarn ordered us to protect you, and--"

"It is all right," Reyson answered simply, forestalling any further apologies. "You were in combat, according to your orders from both tactician and general." Here he nodded to Ike. "You did nothing wrong."

"Still, Prince Reyson," Ulki responded slowly, "You were greviously wounded in battle when you should have had protection. The fault--"

"Belongs to me alone," Reyson answered simply. "I am the one who ventured out from the protection of the back ranks into the sniper's range against orders, and thus I am the only one who may take any blame."

"Not completely, Reyson," Ike answered, speaking up for the first time. He looked tired, and his role as general was clearly wearing on him, but he spoke with confidence. "If you hadn't boosted the right flank with your chant, the lines would have broken, and we would have lost. Zihark's division held out long enough for us to regroup, gather reinforcements, and counterattack. Maybe you broke orders, but if you hadn't we'd all be dead."

The heron considered these words. "Then we won the battle?"

"Overwhelmingly," Ike answered with a slight grin. "The Daein wyvern riders didn't know what hit them."

"Then what happened to the wyvern chasing me after I..." he hesitated, could not quite finish the sentence.

Ulki spoke up once more. "I killed one of the wyvern that attacked you, as well as its human rider," he answered simply.

"Astrid managed to take the other wyvern down with a well-placed shot," Ike added. "I got to that sniper only seconds after he hit you, but that was enough to make sure he didn't get a fatal shot in. Still," he continued with a tired sigh, "we couldn't tell exactly where you went down. The forest seemed to swallow you up. As soon as the battle was finished and the wounded and dead were taken care of we sent out a search party for you. But of course, there were no results for hours until Tormod found you wandering." He shrugged.

"What happened to you while you were separated from us, Prince Reyson?" Janaff asked now, looking both concerned and curious. "Your injuries were terrible, but well cared for."

Reyson gathered his thoughts, and answered slowly, "I was...having an unexpected lesson, learning a little more about the beorc." Ike raised an eyebrow at the cryptic answer, and Janaff and Ulki both frowned slightly, unsure exactly how to interpret the statement. The reactions were more than enough to prompt him, and with a deep breath the heron prince launched into his story.

When he had finished, both Janaff and Ulki were shaking their heads in wonder. "Beorc are so unpredictable," the former muttered in bewilderment, looking exasperated. "How can they stand it?" Ulki nodded in grim agreement. Ike said nothing.

The three remained with him for another hour, talking quietly to the prince, who still felt a little too weary to walk around the encampment for the day. When at last they left, it was with spirits much uplifted. The guilt that both Ulki and Janaff had borne had since been eradicated, and they were content to know the prince in their care was no longer in danger.

But when Ike turned to leave, the prince called to him, halting the newly-appointed general at the tent's entrance. "Ike. I have a brief question for you."

The mercenary leader paused, turned to look back at the heron curiously. "What is it, Reyson?"

"Understanding the beorc..." The laguz paused, wondering how exactly to word his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"It is not...quite so easy as I expected it to be. I thought the beorc would all be the same, but this does not appear to be the case, does it?"

Ike cocked his head quizzically. "Nobody is ever the same as another person, Reyson. Whether they're beorc or laguz."

"Then how can you tell if your actions are correct?" the prince asked, in a tone of sudden frustration. "If your enemies are not all bloodthirsty, and not all evil, how can you justify what you are doing? What _any _of us are doing?"

Ike considered, and then shrugged. "You can't, I guess. Not looking at a people as a whole, at any rate. You never can judge by whole groups...only by the strength and will of an individual person. Some people are cruel, and they need to be stopped. And some aren't...and they shouldn't be punished for it." He shrugged again. "But you never know until you get to know them."

"...I see." Reyson considered the words, compared them to his own experiences with the beorc, or even other laguz. The unusually wise advice seemed applicable in both cases. "Then there is much more to your race than I first thought."

Ike gave a small grin. "That just means you're starting to get to know us." He waved, and then passed through the tent flap into the encampment beyond without another word.

The heron prince nodded quietly in agreement. There was still much to the beorc that he did not understand, and in all likelihood, much of it was something that he probably never would. But he felt very suddenly open to new possibilities and understandings, and his eyes were opened to view even his enemies in a different light. They no longer consisted of an unnamed mass, but as individuals with potential, both good and bad. Some of them would remain bloodthirsty and cruel, but some of them would be kindly and sweet, and some simply the victims of misunderstanding.

And some of them, Reyson now knew...some of them might deserve forgiveness.

-----

And there we have it! The end of this little piece of fiction. I hope you enjoyed it. In turn, it was fun for me to write this, because it felt a little more low-key and subtle than some of my previous work.

For those of you curious (and unable to guess), _nelgetha_ is drow for 'forgiveness.' Oh ho ho, it has meaning! Congratulations to **Chajiko **and **Kusabi Makabe**, who both figured out the meaning on their own.

I'm quite intrigued with the general response to Maeya as a character. It seems you all enjoyed her quite a bit. And half of you seemed to think I planned on killing or hurting her! Too cruel, too cruel, really. Maybe she'll make a comeback one day, and maybe not.

As always, if you leave a review, kindly give it some substance! I want to hear everything—you reactions, what was good, what was bad, what can be improved, what you thought was done well. It helps. A lot. Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed!

--Velkyn Karma


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